


don't come home for christmas

by gothfob



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And lots of plot, Angst, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Porn with Feelings, Sort Of, Undercover Missions, bottom patrick if that matters, gentle pete, it's a buddy cop movie basically, no shock there, oh also patrick is drunk at one point, patrick is really grumpy, youll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothfob/pseuds/gothfob
Summary: Patrick hates the holidays for a multitude of reasons. His father passed away a few years back around Christmas time.Ever since then, he can’t go back home for Christmas with just his mother and his siblings. The house feels too empty, too quiet. His mother looks so sad, he can’t bear to look at her forlorn face anymore.So when Thanksgiving and Christmas roll around, Patrick spends them alone. Because he doesn’t want to go home, and he has no one to spend it with in New York.Or the one where Patrick hates Pete with a burning passion and they just so happen to be partners in solving crime.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 53
Collections: Have Yourself Some Merry Little Peterick 2019





	don't come home for christmas

Patrick hates the holidays for a multitude of reasons. His father passed away a few years back around Christmas time.

Ever since then, he can’t go back home for Christmas with just his mother and his siblings. The house feels too empty, too quiet. His mother looks so sad, he can’t bear to look at her forlorn face anymore. 

So when Thanksgiving and Christmas roll around, Patrick spends them alone. Because he doesn’t want to go home, and he has no one to spend it with in New York. 

He’s been single since he broke up with his college boyfriend who cheated on him. It’s not that he’s sworn off men, or anything. He just hasn’t met anyone he likes enough to want to date. 

He’s more of a one night stand type of guy these days. Maybe he’s a little cynical, or jaded, but he stopped believing in true love a long time ago. 

Patrick has friends, but they are few and far between. Also, most of them are his co-workers. Which means he doesn’t see most of them outside of work. But that’s okay, because he’s always at work. 

He works straight through the holidays almost every year at the police station. He isn’t at all bitter about that, he swears.

He doesn’t hate his job. In fact, he loves being a detective in the homicide department. Following in his Dad’s footsteps, it’s cliche, he’s been told. But he’s trying not to care what other people think. 

The point is, Patrick thinks his job is fun. He loves catching bad guys, he loves interrogating them. He loves his co-workers slash friends. Well. Most of them.

Today, however, is a slow day. Therefore he is stuck at his desk, and as a lowly detective, he does not have his own office. If he ever makes it to being lieutenant, then he’ll get his own office. That’s the dream.

For now, Patrick is sitting behind his desk, doing paperwork. Which is decidedly the most boring thing in existence. To make a bad day worse, Pete Wentz comes strolling through the doorway with his stupid hair and his annoyingly smug face. 

Pete is the only co-worker he really doesn’t like. And by doesn’t like, Patrick means despise. 

Patrick doesn’t know Pete very well, but you see, he doesn’t have to. Pete is very loud and obnoxious. He’s also arrogant. And he steals a lot of Patrick’s best cases. Then he smirks about it, like the entitled asshole that he is. 

Aside from those things directly affecting Patrick, he’s heard the rumors about Pete. He sleeps around, he talks shit about other people behind their backs, and if anyone is a dirty cop, Patrick bets it’s him. 

Every interaction fills Patrick with disdain, and he’s sure this one will be no different, because of course Pete is heading directly towards his desk. The strange part is, Lieutenant Hurley is right next to Pete, matching him stride for stride. 

Patrick sits up a little straighter and drops his pen. Whatever this is, it must be serious. Patrick really hopes it’s a case, so he can finish this paperwork later and not be bored to death. 

“Detective Stump,” Andy greets him with his title instead of his first name at work, and that’s always a weird adjustment for him to make in his brain. But Andy is his boss, so he accepts the fact he needs to follow his lead. “I have something I need to talk to you about.” 

“Of course, but...Lieutenant, I mean no disrespect when I say this, but what is _ he  _ doing here?” Patrick asks, pointing a finger at Pete. He can hear the disgust in his own voice, no matter how hard he tries to mask it. 

Pete doesn’t do anything more than cross his arms and frown at Patrick. He looks a bit like a kicked puppy. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Andy sighs. “Pete is still new here. Therefore, he doesn’t have a partner.” Andy looks at him expectantly, as if Patrick should know what he’s inferring. 

Patrick, clearly a blithering idiot in this moment, says:

“Okay. Why are you telling me this?”

“Detective Urie quit yesterday, much to my chagrin.” Andy looks grave when he says this. 

“Brendon quit?” Patrick squeaks out, completely baffled. Brendon was his partner, and sure, he could be annoying sometimes, but he was a sweet kid.

He was fun to work cases with. Patrick liked being partners with him. He wonders why Brendon wouldn’t tell him he’s leaving. 

  
  


“Yes.” Andy nods. “So, since you no longer have a partner, and Detective Wentz is in need of one, I figured you could work cases together from now on.” 

Patrick stares at Andy, then at Pete, then back again. His jaw has gone slack with shock. Then, Patrick gets angry. 

“You want me. To work with him. Every day?” Patrick bites out, his voice eerily calm. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, unless you’d rather be fired.” Andy states primly. “I wish the both of you luck.” Andy gives Patrick this weird, knowing sort of smile, and then he turns on his heel and heads back to his office. 

“I’m sorry, have I done something to bother you? Because last I checked, we’ve barely exchanged pleasantries.” Pete says, leaning against Patrick’s desk. 

“Yes. You’ve stolen a dozen of my cases. You know, ones that could’ve been my big break and got me promoted.” Patrick glares up at him, his hands clenched into fists to stop himself from punching Pete Wentz in the face. 

“That’s part of the job. You find a lead, you solve the case. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to close cases.” Pete scoffs. Patrick’s face flushes, and he’s about a second away from tackling this douchebag to the ground, his job be damned. 

Patrick takes a couple deep breaths and counts to ten, just like his therapist taught him. 

“Don’t criticize me. This relationship will be strictly professional, okay? We are not friends. We take down murderers. That’s it.” Patrick says this evenly, which he thinks is a pretty impressive feat. 

“Fine by me.” Pete shrugs. That was...surprisingly easy to get him to agree. Patrick squints at him suspiciously. 

“Great. Whatever. Please leave me alone now so I can finish my paperwork.” Patrick seethes, picking up his pen again and straightening out the papers.

“I can’t do that.” Pete hums, that smirk starting to form on his face. 

“Why not?” Patrick grits out, pretending to be fascinated by his paperwork. 

“Someone’s been murdered. We have a crime scene to go to.” Pete says this nonchalantly, as if Patrick hasn’t been waiting to get out from behind his desk all day and do the part of this job he loves. He won’t let anyone ruin that, especially not Pete Wentz.

“Fuck, why didn’t you say so?” Patrick stands up too quickly, scattering his papers all over the floor. Pete’s smile widens into something predatory, and he leans down to help Patrick pick up the papers and pile them neatly back onto his desk. 

“I’m keeping you on your toes, Stump.” 

Patrick doesn’t bother with a response, he just rolls his eyes and puts on his jacket. They make their way out to Patrick’s car, and Pete slides into the passenger seat looking far too pleased with himself. Patrick turns up the radio and tries to tune him out.

xxx

Patrick is a very reserved person. He likes to keep his private life to himself. He doesn’t say everything that pops into his head with no filter. 

Pete Wentz, on the other hand, seems to deliver this in spades on any given day. Add another tally to the mental checklist of reasons why Patrick hates his guts. 

Patrick is standing in the presidential suite at a local ritzy hotel. Joe and Gabe are also here, because they’re the ones that have to take pictures of the crime scenes and then collect DNA samples. 

They’re the forensic analysts, also known as the really smart ones. Joe is the more level headed of the two, the one who takes his job seriously. Gabe reminds Patrick of a weirder, intense version of Pete. 

But like any other crime scene, it’s quite crowded, swarming with hotel staff, the person who made the call, the detectives and their whole team,

plus the NYPD coroner. 

It’s a gruesome sight, a woman lying face down on the carpet, naked and surrounded by a pool of her own blood. 

Patrick is filled with a sense of dread, even before they put on their gloves and flip her over. He has a feeling he knows what they’ll find. 

Her heart is ripped out of her chest, nowhere to be found. Even creepier, her mouth has been sewn shut into the semblance of a smile. 

Patrick stands up and bites anxiously at his lips. 

Pete, always one to make a shitty joke at inappropriate times, says:

“Her heart is missing. What did the killer do, eat it? Is he a fucking werewolf?” 

Patrick doesn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“No. Pretty sure this is the work of a serial killer. This is the fourth girl that’s shown up in Brooklyn with her heart gone and her mouth sewn shut. Like a weird parody of Frankenstein, or something.” Patrick states grimly. 

“Jesus Christ,” Pete groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sometimes, I miss being a small town cop. It was a lot less life scarring.” 

“Well, if you wanna go back to Illinois, be my fucking guest.” Patrick smiles wryly, devoid of humor. Pete shakes his head.

“I didn’t say that. I wanna help solve this case. I like a challenge.” Pete smirks. That godforsaken, smug, arrogant, stupidly attractive smirk.

_ Fuck, wait, no. I don’t find Pete Wentz attractive,  _ Patrick tries to backtrack desperately in his own thoughts. It doesn’t really get him anywhere. 

“Okay. Then let’s start looking around for clues.” Patrick says this firmly, and then he turns away from Pete and strides to the far corner of the room. 

He starts by looking at what’s on the coffee table, if there’s anything belonging to the killer. There’s a glass of champagne that’s half empty, but Patrick would bet that it’s probably the victim’s. This killer is far too smart to leave their own DNA behind. 

The only other thing he finds there is the girl’s wallet, which is definitely something. At least so they can identify her. She has a fake ID and a business card to match in her wallet, which leads Patrick to believe she must be a call girl just like the others.

Her real driver’s license is buried in the last slot, and Patrick picks it out with gloved fingers and turns it right-side up to read it. 

_ Madison Williams. _ 23 years old. 

Patrick sighs, shaking his head and tucking the ID back into her wallet before handing it over to Joe. 

“Another escort?” Joe frowns. “Damn, these poor girls. Imagine what kind of sick fuck would do something like this over and over.” 

“I try not to.” Patrick shudders. “But this does serve as a pattern. Call girls, blonde, early 20’s. He definitely has a type.” 

“Yeah. Now we just need to catch this son of a bitch.” Joe nods, patting Patrick on the shoulder. 

Joe turns, as if he’s about to head out the door and back to the station, but he seems to see something across the room and then he’s facing Patrick again, with this weird expression Patrick can’t place. 

“What?” Patrick snaps. 

“Whatever you do, don’t look behind me.” Joe whispers. Patrick, of course, out of pure curiosity and not self preservation, looks over Joe’s shoulder and meets Pete’s gaze. Patrick scowls, and Pete startles, darting his eyes away quickly like a panicked deer in headlights. 

“I said don’t look!” Joe shrieks, smacking him on the arm. Patrick glares at him, rubbing his bicep. “Not to alarm you or anything, but Detective Wentz has been staring at you like a piece of meat pretty much since he first started working here.” 

“Yeah, right.” Patrick scoffs. “Even if that were true, which it is  _ not, _ I would never go out with him.” Patrick kind of wants to gag at the thought of it. 

“Why not?” Joe asks, eyebrows furrowed. “He’s totally your type. Plus, he’s sweet, and funny. If you don’t go for him I might have to.” Joe laughs. 

Patrick blinks at Joe for a full minute, rendered speechless.

“Are we even talking about the same person?” Patrick inquires, completely bewildered. “Also, last I checked, you’re straight and very happily married. With children.” 

“Pete Wentz is who we’re talking about. And yes, I am aware. I was mostly joking, but he seems like a catch.” Joe shrugs, giving Patrick this teasing sort of smile. 

Patrick laughs so hard at this he has to slap his knee a few times before he catches his breath.

“Oh, Joseph. I hate to break this to you, but I hate Pete with a burning passion. The idea of dating him is revolting to me.” Patrick scrunches up his face as if to demonstrate his disgust. 

“I don’t believe you. Even if that’s true, you could still have sweaty, dirty, hot hate sex.” Joe grins wolfishly at him, and then he starts walking away so Patrick is forced to call after him. 

“I don’t wanna have hate sex with my partner!” Patrick yells, and then he realizes his mistake the moment that he makes eye contact with Pete again. God fucking damn it, Joe. 

Patrick tries his hardest to avoid Pete for the rest of the day, but that’s basically impossible when they’re working the same case together.

They’ve brought in the other girl from the hotel room, the one who made the call. Patrick isn’t a fan of interrogating this poor girl, especially when she’s so shaken. But it’s protocol. The first suspect is the person who finds the body. But Patrick is almost positive that a man did this. Hopefully questioning this girl can get them some answers. 

Patrick is the one who goes into the interrogation room to talk to her first. Pete is waiting outside, watching the camera feed on the monitors. Weirdly, Patrick feels like he needs to perform well, or he’ll be embarrassed. Why does he suddenly care what Pete thinks of him? 

Patrick sits down in the chair across from the girl and looks down at her file. Her record is clean, but he’d bet she goes by a fake name too. 

“Jessica Pratt.” Patrick starts, meeting her gaze. “I’m so sorry that we had to meet like this. I know you must be terrified, and confused.” 

“I am. But I’m mostly angry. Madison was my friend. She didn’t deserve this.” Jessica says, shaking her head, her dark hair falling into her watery eyes. 

“I know. You’re right, she didn’t deserve it. That’s why we wanna catch the bastard that did this. You can help us by telling me what you know.” Patrick says solemnly. 

Jessica’s face pinches together at this, in something resembling a grimace. 

“I can’t tell you his name. Really, I can’t tell you anything if I want to stay alive.” Jessica replies, her bottom lip quivering. 

“You can tell us. We can protect you. A security detail, witness protection, whatever you need. We can help you, Jessica. But only if you cooperate.” Patrick insists, although he sounds more like he’s pleading. 

Jessica shakes her head again, tears pooling in her eyes. She’s terrified, and Patrick doesn’t know how to reassure her, how to talk her down. 

Patrick flounders, opening and closing his mouth for a couple of minutes before slumping back in his chair in defeat. 

The door bangs open, and Pete comes careening through with this ridiculous, charming smile on his face. 

Pete gestures for Patrick to get up and come closer. Reluctantly, Patrick does just that, until Pete can lean down and whisper in his ear. 

Patrick can smell his cologne, his aftershave, spicy and fresh and oh so intoxicating. 

“Let me try. I think I can make her talk.” Pete says, his hot breath hitting the side of Patrick’s face, washing over the back of his neck and making him shiver. 

Patrick pulls back just to glare at him, but he doesn’t disagree. It hurts his pride to leave the room, but he does. 

He goes back onto the floor to watch the live feed like everyone else. Patrick is furious. He is a good cop, Hell, he is a fucking  _ magnificent _ cop. How is Wentz better than him at this? It doesn’t make any sense. At this rate, Pete might snag Lieutenant right out from under him. That just won’t do. 

Patrick leans back against his desk and watches the screen with a scowl on his face. 

“Listen,” Pete says, still unbearably pretty looking, even through a grainy camera lense. It isn’t fair. “I know whoever this man is that you work for is really scary. And I’d wager a guess that he’s running an operation of organized crime. He just does the killing on the side, right? Doesn’t usually want to get his hands dirty. But there’s a reason he let you live. So you can tell us what’s going on here. We can keep you safe. I promise. We wanna put this dude away for life. He won’t be able to touch you.” 

The thing is, he can see the moment Jessica caves. Her face seems to soften, and she trusts Pete. After talking to him for one fucking minute, she trusts him. 

“I can’t tell you his name. But I can tell you what he’s been doing. What he looks like.” Jessica replies, swallowing hard as if the anxiety lives in her throat. 

“Okay.” Pete smiles. “That’s a start.” 

“He owns a strip club downtown. Madison and I worked there as strippers part time. But once you start working there, you can never leave. It doubles as an escort service, essentially. But the strip club is basically a cover for sex trafficking. And he owns us. If we don’t do what he says, he’ll kill us. Or he’ll sell us. I’m not sure which one is worse.” Jessica says, sniffling intermittently. 

Holy shit. Pete actually got her to snitch. 

“But I think he didn’t kill me because he believes I’m loyal to him. He never thought I’d go to the cops about this. Plus, I’m not really his type. I came to the hotel because Madison texted me asking for help. By the time I got there, she was already dead, and he was gone.” Jessica sobs, and Pete puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder to console her. 

“Do you know why he killed her?” Pete asks. 

“I’m not sure. It could’ve been for any reason, really. She didn’t do what he wanted, maybe. But she was talking to me about leaving the club recently. I told her it wasn’t a good idea, that she might get hurt, but she wouldn’t listen to me.” Jessica buries her face in her hands. 

“Alright. It’s okay. We’re gonna catch this asshole, I promise. I’m very sorry for your loss. We’re going to send in the sketch artist in a couple of minutes, so we can get a good idea of what he looks like. Is there anything I can get you? Perhaps a glass of water?” Pete says, ever so gentle and doting. Patrick’s eyes bug out at this. He didn’t know Pete could be so...pleasant. 

“Just water is fine, thanks.” Jessica nods, and then Pete leaves the room. When he comes out onto the floor, everyone claps. Patrick is impressed, but he’ll never admit it. He keeps on frowning, because Pete is stealing all his fucking glory. As per usual.

Pete beams, giving people high fives as he makes his way to the water cooler. Patrick is attempting to glare a hole into Pete’s back. 

“You know, I can’t tell if that look on your face means you want to slit his throat or fuck him senseless.” Joe says, sneaking up behind Patrick and scaring the shit out of him so badly that Patrick jumps and stumbles into the corner of his desk. Ouch. 

“Stop doing that. It’s none of your business, anyways. Leave me alone.” Patrick snaps, trying to shoo Joe away. 

“You’re very touchy for someone who insists they don’t wanna bone Detective Wentz.” Joe singsongs, but he turns and flees before Patrick can smack him upside his curly head. 

Patrick learned from the last time, though, and he does not yell after Joe about how he absolutely does not want to bone Pete. Mainly because that would be lying. Patrick can admit it to himself, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to admit it to anyone else. 

xxx

The following morning, Patrick is back to trying to do paperwork. He’s biting on the end of his pen as he stares at his own handwriting blankly. 

He is interrupted from doing this riveting activity, because he hears the elevator doors slide open. Patrick looks up, and the bane of his existence enters the station in the most over dramatic way possible.

Pete runs towards the gate doors and jumps over them like he’s in Mission Impossible. Everyone claps. Again. Patrick grits his teeth as Pete makes his way over to annoy him. 

Before Pete can even say hello, Patrick bites out:

“What are you, a fucking five year old on a sugar high?” 

Pete, always so infuriating, grins so wide it looks like it hurts. 

“I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description, yes. But also, I just got orders from Lieutenant Hurley about what our next mission is.” Pete laughs. 

Patrick’s blood runs cold at this. Anything Pete is excited about must be atrocious. 

“And you’re so happy about it that you think it’s appropriate to long jump over the gate of a professional workplace?” Patrick purses his lips in an effort to hold back his insults. 

“Yes, Patrick.” Pete smirks. “Anyways, we’re going undercover.” 

Patrick groans with feeling at this news. 

“No,” Patrick whines. “I hate being undercover. Especially if I have to do it with you.” 

“Tough luck, babycakes. You don’t have a choice.” Pete’s smirk intensifies, if that’s even possible. 

“Never call me that again. But why are we going undercover, exactly?” Patrick asks Pete. Instead of asking Andy, like a sane human being would do. It’s just, he doesn’t wanna walk all the way to Andy’s office right now. 

“Hurley said that the only way we’d get dirt on this organization, is if we go undercover there and pretend we’re looking for girls to fuck or sell.” Pete states this proudly. 

Patrick, unable to form words for a moment, face palms.

“First of all, isn’t that incredibly dangerous? Also, you are the worst liar I have ever met. You expect our crime boss slash murderer to look at you and think you’re _ straight? _ ” Patrick snorts. 

“Well yes, of course it is. But it’s the only way we can record a confession and take him in. Besides, we’ll have back up, and Mikey will be in our ears the whole time telling us what to do and when to make a break for it and get out of there.” Pete says. 

  
  


But then, as an afterthought, once his brain seems to catch up, he continues. “He doesn’t have to think I’m straight to believe I’d be in the sex trafficking business. That doesn’t matter. Most people are in it for the money, not the fucking.” 

“Right. Sure. Because that doesn’t sound like a horrifying ordeal.” Patrick huffs. “We need names. And backstories. When is this happening?” Patrick asks. 

“Monday. Mostly because I don’t wanna miss the staff Christmas Party.” Pete beams. 

“Count me out on the party.” Patrick makes a face like he’s just ate a lemon. “But great. I’ll see you on Monday, then. I need to finish this paperwork before I die.” Patrick retorts. 

“Awh, come on, Trick. You don’t like Christmas cheer? It’ll be fun!” Pete sits his ass on the edge of Patrick’s desk. Patrick, very nonchalantly, doesn’t look at Pete’s ass. He’s better than that.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not a very  _ cheerful _ person.” Patrick deadpans. 

“I noticed.” Pete laughs. “But seriously, you should go. Please. For me?” Pete pouts, his big puppy eyes full of mock sadness. 

“In your dreams, Wentz. It’s not happening. Sorry to break your heart.” Patrick looks back down at his insufferable paperwork. 

“Fine. Whatever. Be a buzzkill. I’ll see you on Monday.” Pete sighs. Patrick doesn’t see his face, but he can hear his disappointment. Pete walks away, and Patrick starts to feel bad for saying no.

He just really doesn’t fucking like Christmas. His idea of a good time is not getting drunk with his co-workers, eating their homemade holiday food, playing Secret Santa, and listening to shitty Christmas music. That doesn’t mean he’s the Grinch. 

xxx

The day before the party, Andy walks up to his desk and knocks on the wood like it’s a door. Before Patrick can make a snarky comment about this and possibly get fired, Andy opens his mouth. 

“The annual Christmas party is tomorrow. Attendance is mandatory. Bring food. Not store bought.” Andy says this with a smirk on his face. 

“What the fuck?” Patrick splutters. “That’s not fair! You could’ve at least warned me sooner so I could be prepared.” 

“Then you’d try to make excuses and talk your way out of going. If you want to keep your job, you’ll go. Mingle. It’ll be good for you.” Andy tells him sternly. He sounds weirdly like Patrick’s father. 

Patrick has a feeling that this new rule doesn’t apply to anyone but him. He could totally sue Andy for this. But he won’t. 

“Whatever,” Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’ll be there.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” Andy says gleefully, and then he’s gone. Patrick stares after him in something like contempt. 

That night, he decides he’s going to make cupcakes to bring to the party. Mainly because it’s one of the few things he knows how to bake, and he also knows people love them. 

If it’s possible to wrap something angrily, that’s what Patrick is doing as he fumes about having to go to the stupid party tomorrow night. He’s dreading seeing Pete’s face, the way he’ll gloat that he got Patrick to show up. 

Patrick lays in bed and falls into a restless sleep thinking about Pete Wentz and his annoyingly perfect smile. 

xxx

After he’s done with work on Friday, he heads home to change his outfit into something more fancy. By fancy, he means a black button up and black skinny jeans with dress shoes and a black leather jacket. 

Maybe it’s more of a casual look, but to him it feels fancy. He doesn’t bother eating dinner because he knows there will be a fuckton of food at the party.

Patrick grabs the platter of cupcakes and gets in his car to make the drive back to work. 

Patrick makes his way through the front doors of the police station and takes the elevator up to their floor. 

He takes a deep breath and wipes a sweaty palm on his thigh. The elevator doors open with a ding, and then he’s faced with what he considers to be his worst nightmare. Maybe he’s being a little overdramatic, but whatever. Even though he knows these people, some of them are even his friends, he still has anxiety about what exactly you’re supposed to  _ do _ at a party.

All Patrick can do is take a stab in the dark. He sets his cupcakes on the table full of food, and goes in search of the booze to make himself feel a little less on edge. 

Patrick, to his own horror, ends up humming the Christmas song that’s playing under his breath. He stops it abruptly, and he finally finds the makeshift bar full of alcohol of all kinds. 

Joe is behind the table making the drinks. Patrick is not surprised by this, considering Joe used to be a bartender before he ever worked here. 

Joe perks up when he sees that Patrick is there, a big smile spreading across his face. 

“You made it! It’s a Christmas miracle.” Joe says, eyes wide and his voice taking on a dreamy quality. 

“Oh, shut up.” Patrick says fondly. “Make me a drink, please.” 

“What do you want?” Joe asks, raising an eyebrow. Patrick makes a vague, incomprehensible hand gesture. 

“Surprise me. I’ll take anything.” 

“Alright. But you asked for it.” Joe laughs, and then he gets to work mixing Patrick’s drink. It ends up being a super sugary, electric blue cocktail. It’s delicious, so Patrick’s not complaining. 

Patrick makes his way back to the table full of food, which is crowded with all of his coworkers trying each other’s homecooking. He sips at his drink and tries to find something that looks good. 

“You should try the Thai food.” Someone says from behind him, their head over his shoulder in his peripheral vision. Patrick startles, almost spilling his drink down his shirt, and turns around to face Pete, because who else would it be? 

“Hi,” Patrick says, already annoyed by Pete almost making him waste his life-saving cocktail. “Is the Thai food yours?” 

“Yep,” Pete nods, grinning and puffing out his chest in pride. “I made it myself.” 

“Huh.” Patrick replies, raising his eyebrows. He won’t act like he’s impressed until he’s actually tried it. “Alright. Get me a plate and I’ll try some.” Patrick goes along with it, trying to be cordial. Hopefully it won’t be disgusting. 

When Pete turns away to grab a fork and a plate, Patrick finally gets a good look at him. He’s wearing a tank top so torn that Patrick can see his ribs, and he’s got on _ leather _ pants. 

Patrick swallows hard at this, trying not to look at Pete’s ass again. When Pete comes back with a serving of his creation, Patrick makes eye contact with him and notices the eyeliner on his lower lash line making his eyes pop even more than usual. 

Patrick takes the plate, their fingers brushing, sending electric shocks through his body. God, he is so  _ fucked, _ and not in the fun way. 

Patrick snaps himself out of this train of thought and twirls the noodles around his fork before taking a big bite. Patrick chews, swallows, hums thoughtfully. And then he looks at Pete, in complete disbelief. 

“Are you sure you made this?” Patrick asks, shoving another bite into his mouth quite unattractively, he’s sure. 

“I did. Is it bad?” Pete chuckles, looking nervous. Patrick had no idea Pete Wentz got nervous. It’s weirdly endearing. 

“No. It’s really fucking good. Do you cook often?” Patrick inquires, eating the remainder of the portion with ferocity and washing it down with the rest of his cocktail. 

“Yeah. I love to cook.” Pete says bashfully. Oh, fuck. Pete gets more sexy by the second. The way to Patrick’s heart is most definitely through his stomach. 

“Holy fuck, that was amazing.” Patrick moans, licking the fork in a very undignified way. Pete’s eyes dart down to his mouth for a split second, but Patrick absolutely catches it. 

“I’d love to cook you dinner sometime. Anything you want.” Pete replies, his eyes shining with hope. Fucking hell, Patrick totally walked himself into that one, didn’t he? 

He’d love for Pete to make him dinner. He’d also love Pete to fuck him through the mattress, but that’s inconsequential in this moment. Patrick doesn’t wanna give him the wrong idea, and he isn’t looking to date anyone, especially not Pete Wentz. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t take you up on that.” Patrick shakes his head, trying to look apologetic. Pete doesn’t argue, in fact, he backs off. It isn’t what Patrick expected, but he supposes Pete is full of surprises. 

“That’s okay,” Pete shrugs. “Maybe some other time. Can I get you another drink?” 

“Yeah, thanks. Just tell Joe to give me another one of these.” Patrick rattles the glass, the ice clinking against the side as Pete takes it and makes his way across the room back to the makeshift bar. 

Patrick tries to calm his racing heart, but it feels like a lost cause. Pete and his pretty face really just set Patrick’s soul on fire. He has to remember that Pete is an asshole. A shallow, backstabbing, cheating asshole who would only break his heart. And he’s probably a dirty cop to boot, Patrick can’t forget that. 

Patrick, renewed in his hatred for Pete, snatches the drink out of his hand when he comes back. Pete looks at him with his eyebrows furrowed, the expression on his face caught between confusion and frustration. 

Patrick isn’t going to apologize this time, so instead he turns around and grabs a cupcake from the table and shoves it into Pete’s face. 

“Mmph,” Pete grumbles, caught off guard. He grabs a hold of the cupcake and pulls it away from his mouth to inspect it. “What was that for?” Pete asks. 

“Nothing. I made them. I wanted you to try one.” Patrick shrugs, feeling jittery. Patrick, in his haste, has realized his mistake. Pete’s mouth is covered in pink frosting, and Patrick really, desperately, wants to lick it off. 

Pete is looking at him like he’s got two heads, but Patrick can’t be too bothered by that when Pete licks the frosting off his own lips unbearably slowly. 

“Okay. Well, they’re dope as fuck.” Pete grins, his teeth stained pink. He shoves the rest of the cupcake into his mouth unceremoniously. 

“Thanks.” Patrick replies, biting his lip. He’s not drunk enough for this. In fact, he’s barely tipsy. He takes a long pull out of his new cocktail. 

“So how come you actually decided to show up?” Pete finally asks. 

“Andy said it was mandatory.” Patrick scrunches up his nose in annoyance. 

“Is that so,” Pete laughs, a loud, braying noise. “I’ll have to thank him, then.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m just the life of the party.” Patrick sasses. 

“That’s not what I meant. However, you are the only person I actually wanted to see tonight.” Pete admits. 

Patrick blushes and avoids Pete’s eyes. 

“Stop that.” Patrick murmurs. 

“What?” Pete smirks, like he doesn’t fucking know. 

“Stop flirting with me. I don’t like you, don’t you get that?” Patrick bites out. 

“I disagree. I think you’re trying to convince  _ yourself _ that you don’t like me, but you totally do. I can tell.” Pete grins. 

“No. I don’t even know you.” Patrick scoffs. 

“You don’t. But you have some preconceived notions about me, don’t you? That’s why you don’t like me.” Pete says, the realization washing over him. 

“I mean...Yeah. I guess. Maybe that’s unfair of me. But it’s not like you’ve proved me wrong yet.” Patrick huffs. 

“You don’t have to date me. But you could at least give me a chance to be your friend.” Pete says, and now he sounds hurt. 

Patrick opens and closes his mouth several times, gaping like a fish out of water. He doesn’t know what to say. Before he can manage to form words, Pete glares at him and crosses his arms.

“Suddenly you have nothing to say. I see how it is. I guess you won’t have to worry about me flirting with you anymore. I’ll see you on Monday, for work, jackass.” Pete hisses, and then he’s gone. 

Patrick blinks for several seconds, trying to process what just happened. Pete is mad at him. Oh how fast the tables turn. 

Patrick tries to brush it off, tries to not think about it as he tries more food and switches to drinking water and talks to his co-workers. To his own surprise, he actually has a good time. But when he gets home at the end of the night, he has this guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach that won’t go away. 

xxx

When Monday rolls around, Patrick is dreading it. He doesn’t want to see Pete’s angry face again. He doesn’t want to go undercover and spend the whole day with him. 

It seems they are caught in mutual loathing. It’s all the rage. 

So Patrick is in a rotten mood when he gets to work, and by the time he sits down at his desk Pete is there. 

Pete’s mouth is a harsh line, and he doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Pete dumps a godawful pile of ugly clothes on his desk. 

“Who let you choose the clothes for this?” Patrick asks with disdain, wrinkling his nose. 

“Andy put me in charge.” Pete retorts. 

“That’s not fair,” Patrick whines. “I don’t wanna look like a pimp.” 

“That’s sort of the point.” Pete rolls his eyes. “Just get dressed, and then we’ll be on our way to the strip club.” 

Pete leaves, presumably to change into his attire. Patrick frowns, and goes to the bathroom to change his outfit.

When he gets out of the stall and looks at himself in the mirror, he can’t help but laugh. He looks ridiculous. The suit jacket is pinstriped, and a little too big on him. The fedora is jauntily placed on top of his head, and it has a goddamn red feather sticking out of it. 

He’s wearing an eyesore of a tie, his dress shirt doesn’t match whatsoever, and the pants are a pair of baggy acid wash jeans. The sneakers are white and chunky, and they’re the only thing Patrick doesn’t hate on sight. 

He’s also adorned with big rings and chains around his neck. Patrick has never looked like more of an asshole than in this moment. 

Patrick makes his way out of the bathroom with his normal clothes in his hands, and when he goes outside to throw them in the backseat of his car, Pete is waiting in the parking lot. 

Patrick locks his car and turns around to face Pete. 

And it’s a lot to take in. Pete is wearing a black bandana as a neck tie. His hair is falling in his eyes, and he’s got on a black vest over a long sleeve white shirt. He also seems to be wearing a pair of black girl’s jeans. He’s got his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder, and a lot of gaudy jewelry to match Patrick’s. 

Patrick narrows his eyes at him.

“How do you look good and I look like a bad 80’s gangster?” 

Pete laughs. 

“Maybe this is revenge.” 

“Fine. Why do I have a feeling you already owned all of these clothes?” Patrick mutters. 

“Are you trying to insult my fashion sense?” Pete gasps, a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Yes. Absolutely. It’s incredibly ugly.”  _ But you can pull off anything,  _ Patrick’s brain unhelpfully supplies. 

“Nothing I haven’t heard before. Get in the car.” Pete says, opening the driver’s side door and slamming it behind him.

Patrick, deeply frustrated with this whole situation, stomps his feet all the way to Pete’s car before hopping inside and buckling his seatbelt. 

Pete’s music taste is as atrocious as his fashion sense, but Patrick decides to keep this comment to himself for once. Things between them are already unbearably tense. 

They arrive at the strip club downtown in about forty minutes. It’s pretty hard to miss, with the flashing neon lights and the loud music. 

It’s only early afternoon, but the wicked never rest. 

Pete briefed him on their fake names on the way here, so from now on Patrick will call him Lewis and Pete will call him Martin. How Pete knows his middle name remains a mystery. 

They’ve got their mics hidden under the collars of their shirts, and an ear-piece for each of them to hear Mikey. 

They walk into the club and make a beeline for the bar, where they can talk to someone with a little more authority than the dancers have. Plus, Patrick is pretty sure the dancers are terrified and won’t give them what they need to take down this fucker. 

“Hi,” Pete says, putting on his megawatt smile. “We’re looking to speak to the manager here. We’ve got some important business to discuss.” Pete winks. 

“Is the boss expecting you?” the bartender asks, wiping down the top of the bar with a rag. 

“Yes.” Pete lies through his perfectly white teeth. 

“Okay. Just head all the way to the back, on the far right, there’s a door. Go down that hallway and the door at the end is his office.” The bartender is surprisingly forthcoming, without them even having to give their names. 

Patrick would bet the bartender is terrified of this man too. 

Pete says thanks, and then they make their way to the back of the club where the secluded hallway is. 

Their footsteps echo, but all Patrick really hears is the pounding of his own heart in his ears. 

“ _ Have you got the backstory ready? _ ” Mikey asks, cutting into Patrick’s panicked thoughts. 

“Yes.” Pete replies, sounding much more confident than anyone should in this situation. 

“Is there a reason you haven’t told me what this backstory is?” Patrick hisses as they approach the door. 

Pete’s silence is answer enough, whatever it is, Patrick isn’t gonna fucking like it. 

Pete wraps on the door with his knuckles three times, and then they wait.

A few seconds later, the door is swung open by a man with a five o’clock shadow, shaggy black hair, dark green eyes, and he’s wearing a very expensive suit. He’s a dead ringer for the sketch of their killer. 

Patrick swallows hard, and he lets Pete do all the talking. 

“Hello.” Pete smiles. “We’re here to make a deal. I’m Lewis, and this is Martin.” Pete sticks out his hand to shake. The man shakes it, if a bit reluctantly, and then he shakes Patrick’s hand and lets them in. 

“I’m Caleb Miller. I wasn’t expecting you.” The man replies, sitting behind his desk. There’s another man sitting on the couch against the wall, staring at them intensely. 

Pete and Patrick sit down in the chairs in front of Caleb’s desk. 

“Sorry this is all very last minute. You see, my husband and I are in the business. But we’re strapped for cash right now, and we’d really like to go on our honeymoon as soon as possible. We just haven’t been able to find any suitable  _ merchandise _ .” Pete says, shooting Caleb a meaningful look. 

Patrick isn’t really focused on that though. He’s focused on not choking because Pete just called him his  _ husband _ and he suddenly can’t fucking breathe. 

  
  


Pete shoots him a look of concern and takes Patrick’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It only makes Patrick more nervous, his heart feeling like it’s going to pound out of his chest. 

  
  


“So you’re asking me if I have any girls you can sell?” Caleb says, pursing his lips. 

  
  


“Well, yes. But we’d be happy to split the money down the middle. We just need enough for our honeymoon.” Pete turns to beam at Patrick, and all he can do is mirror the smile and nod weakly. 

  
  


“I get 70% and you get 30% and you have yourself a deal.” Caleb replies, his voice firm. 

  
  


“Deal.” Pete grins. “Now, if you could just show us the girls you’ve got?” 

  
  


“No,” Caleb narrows his eyes at them both suspiciously. “I’ll bring you the girl I’m willing to part with. That’s it.” 

“Okay.” Pete says, trying not to let the shock show on his face. 

As soon as Caleb is out of the room, they’re still not allowed to blow their cover because of the other man across the room, Patrick has a feeling he must be Miller’s security guy. 

  
  


“ _ That’s a confession. We’ll be sending back-up now, okay? You guys are doing great. Just don’t get yourself killed before we get there _ .” Mikey says into their ears. 

  
  


“That’s really comforting.” Patrick whispers dryly. 

  
  


“We’ve got this, Trick. No worries.” Pete replies, his voice equally as low. 

  
  


A couple of minutes later, Caleb comes back into the room, dragging the girl by her forearm and forcing her to sit down on the far end of the couch. 

  
  


“Will she do?” Caleb asks, his eyes hard and his voice filled with malice. 

  
  


Pete stands up and walks closer to the girl, feigning interest, looking her up and down for any imperfections. 

  
  


Pete lifts up her chin gently and tries to give her a reassuring expression, but she’s terrified, thinking she’s going to be sold for sex. These poor girls deserve so much better than this. 

  
  


Pete turns back around and grins his best predatory smile, all teeth. 

  
  


“She’s perfect. Can we take her today?” Pete asks. 

  
  


“Only if you have my cut of the money.” Caleb replies, glaring at them both openly now. 

  
  


“B-but I just told you, we need to sell her so we’ll have money for our honeymoon!” Pete splutters, his voice rising with his panic. 

  
  


“I don’t give a shit. You give me my money now or I’ll kill you both.” Caleb threatens, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

  
  


Patrick swallows hard, trying to figure out what he can do. This escalated way too quickly, but no one ever said killers were mentally stable. 

  
  


“But we don’t  _ have _ the money yet.” Pete wails. 

  
  


“Well that’s too bad.” Caleb smirks, and then he gestures for his security guy to stand. 

  
  


“ _ ETA is one minute. _ ” Mikey chimes in. Suddenly, Patrick knows exactly what to do. 

  
  


“Wait!” Patrick shrieks. 

  
  


“He speaks.” Caleb mocks. 

  
  


“We don’t have to give you the money.” Patrick states, his voice nonchalant. 

  
  


“You’d rather die?” Caleb chuckles. 

  
  


“Nah. I hate to break it to you, but we’re cops. NYPD, motherfucker. Put your hands above your head.” Patrick pulls his gun out from the back of his pants and points it at Caleb. 

  
  


“Ha! You think I’m afraid of you.” Caleb snorts. 

  
  


“You should be.” Patrick smirks. 

  
  


The smirk falls off Patrick’s face when the security guy raises his gun and aims it at him. 

  
  


“You’ve made a grave mistake. If I were you, I’d be very careful what you do next.” It’s Caleb’s turn to smirk. 

  
  


Patrick cocks the gun, preparing to shoot for Caleb’s head. He hears the security guard do the same beside him. 

  
  


“Last I checked, killing men wasn’t exactly your M.O.” Patrick sneers. 

  
  


“I’ll make an exception.” Caleb shrugs, and then he shoves Pete against the wall and wraps his hands around his throat. 

  
  


“No!” Patrick shouts. 

  
  


“You’re willing to risk your own life, but the second I threaten your little boyfriend you can’t take it, huh? Pathetic.” Caleb spits. 

  
  


Pete fights against his hold, trying to pull his hands away from his throat, kicking and thrashing. 

  
  


Patrick puts the gun down on the floor and raises his hands above his head. It feels like the easy way out, but it’s all he can do while they wait for back-up. He’s trying to keep them both alive and unharmed. 

The security guard still has his gun aimed at Patrick’s face. 

Patrick stares helplessly as Pete gasps for breath, his face turning red and his body becoming limp. He stops fighting it. 

Just as Patrick is preparing to lunge at Caleb, the door bursts open and the rest of the force shows up with their weapons raised. 

“Mr. Miller, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” Andy says, always coming to the rescue. 

Their team manages to get Caleb off of Pete and get his hands behind his back to cuff him. The security guard drops his gun like it’s on fire. 

He’ll be brought in for questioning and charged later. Right now, Patrick can’t find it in him to care about that. Patrick runs over to Pete and crouches down beside him where he’s fallen to the floor.

He isn’t unconscious, but he’s panting desperately, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs. 

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks, placing a hand on Pete’s shoulder. 

Pete nods, and then he starts to grin in this contagious sort of way. 

“We did it.” Pete gasps. 

“Yeah, somehow we got that bastard.” Patrick laughs, slumping against the wall beside Pete in relief. 

“We should celebrate.” Pete says. And the thing is, Patrick can’t say no after Pete almost choked to death. 

“Drinks?” Patrick asks tentatively. 

“Sounds fantastic. Just you and me?” Pete is asking for clarification. 

“Just you and me.” Patrick confirms, and then he stands and reaches out a hand to help Pete up. 

xxx

Later, after they’ve changed out of their terrible costumes, they meet at the bar a few blocks from the station. 

They get their drinks and sit at the booth in the corner, dark and secluded. Patrick has a niggling feeling this is a bad idea, but he’s too high on the adrenaline rush of sending a criminal to prison to care. 

“So. I just wanna say, what you did in there was badass.  _ NYPD, motherfucker. Put your hands above your head. _ ” Pete mimicks his earlier words, pitching his voice lower. 

“I decided to improvise. You did most of the work.” Patrick shrugs, laughing off the compliment. 

“No way. You saved my life, man. There’s no way I can ever repay you for that.” Pete says, oozing sincerity. 

“You don’t have to. I didn’t want you dead, which came as a shock even to me. Although I kind of wanted to kill you myself after you said I was your husband.” Patrick glares at Pete and finishes the rest of his drink. 

“Sorry about that. It was the best cover story I could come up with.” Pete has the decency to look sheepish. 

“Whatever.” Patrick rolls his eyes. “Get me a refill, please.” 

“Yes, your majesty.” Pete bows, and then he’s shouldering his way through the crowd back to the bar. 

When he comes back, he’s got a new drink for Patrick as well as another one for himself. 

“You know, I just can’t seem to pin you down.” Pete says, biting at his straw thoughtfully. 

Patrick’s mind immediately tailspins into a bunch of very dirty thoughts. 

“What?” Patrick chokes out. 

“You’re so frustrating. You send mixed signals all the fucking time. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get to know you. Why is that?” Pete asks, cocking his head. 

Patrick takes a few big gulps out of his glass to stall. 

“Maybe I like being mysterious.” Patrick is absolutely lying through his teeth. 

“That’s bullshit. You’re afraid, aren’t you? You don’t let anyone close to you because the last time you did you got hurt really badly.” Pete says, looking at Patrick with this weirdly pitying look. 

“What are you, my fucking therapist? Jesus Christ. Can we not talk about this? I thought this was supposed to be a  _ celebration _ .” Patrick spits venom. 

“It is. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Pete retreats with his tail between his legs, and decides to change the subject. 

“Do you wanna dance?” 

“No. I can’t dance to save my life, dude.” Patrick snorts, and chugs the rest of his drink. 

“Okay. Then do you wanna come to my place and I’ll cook you that dinner?” Pete asks, looking very determined to make Patrick say yes. 

Patrick is weak, and a little tipsy. Therefore, he can’t say no to a delicious dinner with a very attractive man a second time. 

“Fine. Yes. As long as you have alcohol.” Patrick blurts. 

Pete smiles at him like he’s the sun. 

“I do. Let’s go. I’ll get us an Uber.” 

xxx

Pete’s apartment is very messy. Filled with classic novels, poetry books, vinyl records, DVD’s, and posters. 

His clothes are all over the floor, and Patrick is oddly endeared by this. This place is very Pete, and he thinks that’s fitting. 

“What are you hungry for?” Pete asks, rummaging through his fridge. 

“Fajitas sound delicious right about now.” Patrick says, rubbing his stomach. 

“With chicken?” Pete asks. Patrick nods, and sits himself on the stool at Pete’s island. 

“I can do that. Do you want beer? Wine?” Pete asks. He is a very gracious host. 

“Wine would be nice.” Patrick replies. Pete grabs a big wine glass out of one of the cabinets and a bottle of red from the fridge and pours it to the very top. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me.” Patrick simpers, dragging his finger around the rim of the glass before bringing it up to his mouth. 

“You caught me.” Pete smirks, and then he starts cooking. The thing is, there are few things that Patrick finds sexier than a man who knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. 

About an hour and three glasses of wine later, Patrick is pleasantly drunk and sitting on Pete’s couch munching on the best fajitas he’s ever had. 

“So good.” Patrick moans around the last bite. He’s tempted to lick the plate clean. Pete stares at him, his eyes big and dark. 

“I’m glad you like them.” Pete smiles shyly down at his own plate, and keeps eating. 

Once they’ve both finished, Pete busts out the chocolate cake for dessert. It goes very well with the wine, Patrick thinks. 

Pete’s only drank a couple glasses of wine, and Patrick is on his fourth (or fifth?) glass. Logically, Patrick knows this means that he is a lot more drunk than Pete is right now. 

It also means Patrick is a lot more forthcoming. And frankly, he’s a very happy, horny drunk. But he didn’t come here to sleep with Pete Wentz. He knows he’d regret it in the morning. 

He is determined in his quest to not have sex with Pete, he swears. 

If he’s too touchy feely, Pete doesn’t seem to mind. He leans into every point of contact. They talk about everything and nothing, but Patrick has lost track of what Pete’s saying and is just staring at his mouth.

He knows it’s rude, he just can’t seem to stop. 

“Patrick!” Pete says, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Patrick is startled out of his thoughts, feeling like they’re starting to melt together. 

“Hmm?” Patrick hums. 

“You’re drunk. Do you want some coffee?” Pete laughs. Patrick doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

“No. I’m fine.” Patrick replies, shaking his head. “I want…” Patrick trails off.

“You want?” Pete replies, raising his eyebrows. He looks very amused. 

“I want you to fuck me.” Patrick gets out. Pete flinches at this, clearly not expecting the words to come out of Patrick’s mouth. 

“Patrick,” Pete starts. “I don’t think-“ 

“Shut up,” Patrick says, putting a finger over Pete’s mouth and shushing him. “It’s a great idea. I know you want to. Please.” Patrick is not above begging when he’s this far gone. 

“Are you sure?” Pete looks like this particular conversation is torture. “You’re not thinking clearly, Patrick. You’re wasted.” 

“I beg to differ. I would make this exact same decision while completely sober. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me for weeks.” Patrick admits. Oops. He didn’t mean to say all that. 

“Oh.” Pete says, and then he grins. “I’m so glad to hear that. But let me get you that coffee first, okay? If you still wanna fuck me in a few hours, then we can do the horizontal salsa.” 

Pete leaves Patrick on the couch, his mouth agape in shock. He didn’t expect Pete to be such a gentleman. Patrick kind of wishes he wasn’t, mainly because he wants to get fucked like yesterday. 

Pete comes back with two cups of coffee, one with sugar and one black. He hands Patrick the cup of black coffee. 

“How did you-“ Patrick starts to ask.

“I’ve seen the coffee you drink at the station every day.” Pete shrugs, blushing. Patrick has never seen him blush. It’s very pretty. 

Patrick shows him mercy and changes the subject, trying to sober up.

They talk for a while longer, and when Patrick checks the time, it’s nearly midnight. He sets the coffee cup down on the table and goes to stand up, but Pete stops him with a look. 

“I should get going. It’s late. We have work tomorrow.” Patrick babbles nervously. He feels a lot more clear headed now after the coffee and the couple of hours that have passed. He even feels a little embarrassed of how hard he threw himself at Pete. 

“Stay the night.” Pete offers simply. Like it’s not a big deal. 

“I don’t want to impose.” Patrick frowns. 

“You’re not. I want you here with me.” Pete replies, his eyes earnest. 

Patrick stares at him, feeling like he’s melting into a puddle. Pete looks conflicted, trying to make a decision about what he should do. He seems to make up his mind rather quickly. 

Pete lunges at Patrick so hard that they roll off the couch and onto the floor. Patrick would complain about hitting his head, but Pete’s arms are cradling it, breaking his fall. Also, the carpet is really nice and soft. 

Then Patrick abruptly stops thinking about the carpet, because Pete is kissing him. Pete is kissing him and his whole body is on fire. 

It’s a fucking incredible first kiss. It’s probably the best one Patrick has ever had. Pete slips his tongue into Patrick’s mouth and he can’t help but whimper at the sensation and open his mouth for more. 

Patrick buries his hands in Pete’s hair and tugs. 

“Just because I want to have sex with you, it doesn’t mean I like you. Got it?” Patrick gasps out between kisses. 

“Sure.” Pete murmurs the word into his mouth, as if he doesn’t believe what Patrick is saying. 

They make out for a while, until they’re grinding against each other and they can’t take it anymore. Pete pulls back to dig through the pocket of his jeans until he finds a condom and a packet of lube. 

“Do I even wanna know why you were carrying that around with you today?” Patrick retorts. 

“I was hoping I’d get lucky.” Pete grins at him wolfishly, and then he’s shoving his jeans and boxers down his legs and kicking them off before pulling his shirt over his head. 

Patrick stares at him, taking in all that naked skin greedily. His tattoos are sheened in sweat, his skin golden and his abs more defined than Patrick was expecting. 

Pete’s cock is in a thatch of pubic hair, so hard it’s pointed like a compass needle to the ugliest tattoo Patrick’s ever seen on Pete’s stomach. 

Patrick doesn’t spare it more than a passing thought, because now Pete is trying to get him naked. Patrick raises his arms over his head and helps kick his own pants and boxers off.

Pete gets on top of him and presses them together from head to toe, and Patrick moans at the skin on skin contact. 

Pete kisses him again, wet and deep and full of want. Pete trails the kisses down Patrick’s body, and then he pinches Patrick’s inner thigh teasingly. 

Patrick gasps, and he looks down when Pete finally fits his cock between his lips and starts slicking his fingers with lube. 

Pete swirls his tongue around the head of Patrick’s dick and circles two fingers around his hole. Patrick feels it like an electric shock through his whole body. 

“Pete, Pete, Pete.” Patrick says it like a prayer. 

Pete slides down Patrick’s dick inch by glorious inch, his mouth hot and wet and oh so welcoming. 

Pete crosses two fingers and pushes them into Patrick slowly. It stings, but Patrick tries to focus on fucking up into Pete’s mouth. 

Patrick puts his hands back in Pete’s hair, not pushing his head down, just holding on for dear life. 

Pete hums around his dick, deepthroating him, his nose buried in Patrick’s pubic hair. 

Patrick screams, Pete’s throat hugging his length tightly. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!” Patrick swears at an alarming volume. Pete’s neighbors are probably going to think he’s being murdered. Right now, he can’t find it in him to give a shit. 

Pete pulls off to take a few deep breaths, and then he starts sucking Patrick’s balls into his mouth one by one. 

His fingers pump into Patrick faster now, deeper. He slides in a third finger and twists his wrist, in search of Patrick’s sweet spot. 

Pete’s other hand starts stroking Patrick’s dick, his fingers feather light. Patrick lets out a frustrated noise and pushes back against Pete’s fingers.

Pete laughs, and then he gives Patrick one of those terrible smirks. 

Pete curls his fingers and pushes up, and that’s it, right there.

“Don’t stop, Jesus fuck.” Patrick says breathlessly, the pleasure white hot and blinding. 

Pete keeps rubbing against his prostate for a few seconds, and then, because he’s evil, he pulls his fingers out. 

Patrick groans, empty and clenching around nothing. 

“I hate you.” Patrick grunts with feeling. 

Pete has the condom on already, is slicking up his dick with the leftover lube. Pete raises his eyebrows at him, and it’s so arresting Patrick is rendered speechless. He simply spreads his thighs in invitation and waits for the inevitable magnetic force to pull them together. 

Pete pushes inside of him slowly, the burn inconsequential compared to the pleasure washing over him. Once Pete’s dick is inside him to the hilt, Patrick relaxes into the carpet in relief. It’s been a long time since he did this, but God, he’s missed it. He feels so full, like Pete’s tearing him apart from the inside out and then he’ll put him back together again when he’s finished. 

Pete fucks him like he thinks Patrick is made of glass. Patrick really despises that. He wants to be fucked hard. He wants it to mean nothing. 

“Faster.” Patrick pleads, dragging his nails down Pete’s back. 

Pete picks up the pace a little, but it’s not enough. Pete kisses him again, gentle with his hands on Patrick’s face. It’s tender. It’s the opposite of what Patrick wants, it makes him feel like he’s going to burst into tears. 

Patrick pulls back from the kiss and buries his face into Pete’s shoulder, biting down hard. 

Pete jerks, his hips jackhammering into Patrick just right. That’s more like it. 

Pete starts thrusting faster and harder, as the urgency overtakes him. 

Patrick revels in it, his back arching as Pete impales him on his dick over and over again. 

Pete circles his hips, buries himself deep inside of Patrick and bumps up against that golden gland until Patrick can’t breathe, can’t do anything but moan and whimper. 

“I’ve got you.” Pete whispers. Pete grabs a hold of his hips and pins him down, changing the angle of his thrusts until Patrick feels like he’s going blind from the pleasure of it. 

“Stop doing that, you asshole.” Patrick pants out. There he goes again with the tenderness. It makes Patrick’s chest ache. 

Pete stills on top of him. 

“Stop doing what? Do you want me to pull out?” Pete asks, his face full of concern. 

“No,” Patrick shakes his head vehemently. “Stop being nice to me. And gentle. It’s weird. Just fuck me until I can’t think.” 

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” Pete says, full of determination as he starts to move his hips again. 

They move together in perfect rhythm now, both chasing orgasm. Patrick keeps telling himself it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like Pete. Besides, Pete isn’t the type of guy you have a long term relationship with. 

Patrick comes pulling Pete’s hair, his name on the tip of his tongue. He clenches up tight around Pete’s dick, spurting thickly between their bellies and completely untouched. It is most definitely the best orgasm he’s ever had. 

Patrick melts into the floor, trying to catch his breath. Pete is still fucking him, but it’s a lot sloppier now, his rhythm gone needy and desperate. 

“God, Patrick. You’re so fucking beautiful.” Pete gasps, and then he freezes, his abs clenching up tight as he comes inside of Patrick with a string of expletives. 

After he’s ridden out the aftershocks, Pete pulls out carefully and then places a kiss on Patrick’s cheek before he gets up to toss the condom and grab a washcloth. 

Patrick is too sleepy and sated to protest, so he lets Pete clean him up and lead him to his bed by the hand. 

Patrick falls asleep with Pete wrapped around him. 

xxx

When Patrick wakes up, he feels disoriented. It takes him a minute to realize he isn’t in his own apartment. He’s at Pete’s place. 

Patrick rolls over and sees Pete sprawled on the mattress next to him, taking up far too much space for such a tiny person. His limbs are spread wide, one of his legs draped over Patrick’s thigh. 

“Good morning, gorgeous.” Pete grins, all teeth. He looks very at ease. Patrick can’t relate. He feels tense. Like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Hi.” Patrick says uncertainty. 

“Are you freaking out?” Pete asks, very observant as always.

“A lot.” Patrick swallows hard and sits up. Then he realizes his clothes are strung all over Pete’s living room. Patrick checks his watch and then he scrambles out of the bed, dislodging Pete’s limbs from his own. He’s running late for work. Fuck, they’re both running late. 

“I have to go. I’m late for work. Shit.” Patrick frowns, and then he starts striding to the living room. 

Pete follows, still in all of his naked glory, hovering in the doorway. 

Patrick pulls his boxers on and then goes in search for his jeans and his shirt. 

“I could drive you.” Pete offers. 

“No. I can get my own ride.” Patrick huffs, pulling his shirt on and buttoning it up as quickly as possible, fumbling a few of them. 

“Patrick,” Pete says, sounding hurt. Patrick avoids his eyes, pulling his jeans up his thighs and zipping them up. “Don’t do this. It’s not a big deal. Is it really so embarrassing that you like me back?”

“Yes. No. I don’t like you back.” Patrick spits, pulling on one of his sneakers and spinning around in circles looking for the other. 

“It sure seemed like you liked me when you were squirming underneath me last night.” Pete counters, stepping closer to Patrick with every word. 

“Shut the fuck up. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Patrick snaps, shoving his foot into the other shoe and grabbing his hat and his leather jacket. 

“Really. You don’t remember the mindblowing sex we had?” Pete crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Sex? What sex?” Patrick fakes innocence, patting down his pockets to make sure he has his phone, keys, and wallet. 

“Listen. I know that you’re scared to date me, or ashamed, or whatever it is you are. But I’m not a bad guy. I’m not who you think I am. And I care about you. Just...think about it.” Pete says, being awfully pragmatic to a man who has been downright mean to him for weeks. 

“This didn’t happen.” Patrick grumbles, and then he goes out Pete’s front door and slams it behind him. 

When he gets to the station, he realizes he’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday because he forgot to go home and change in his haste. It is a walk of shame, except he and Pete are the only ones who know it. Nevertheless, it is very damning. Patrick’s world is starting to turn upside down, and he only has Pete to blame.

xxx

Christmas is in six days. Patrick is planning on spending it alone, like he has every year. The thing is, Pete Wentz won’t leave him the fuck alone. He’s a persistent son of a bitch. 

Pete keeps poking and prodding him at work, being nice and sweet and helpful. He brings Patrick coffee, and dinner. They solve cases together, in and outside of work. 

So Patrick is sitting on his living room floor, staring at crime scene photos with Pete next to him. He’s trying to focus, but Pete is incessant in his ability to annoy Patrick. 

“What do you want to eat?” Pete asks him for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. 

“I don’t care. You choose.” Patrick bites out, looking up to glare at him. “I’m trying to get work done.” 

“Patrick, it’s after hours. You can relax and take a break.” Pete coaxes. 

“You don’t know me at all.” Patrick snorts. 

“Actually, I do. I know how you like your coffee, I know what your favorite food is, I know your favorite color, I know you scrunch your nose when you’re annoyed with me. I even know you’re a workaholic.” Pete sounds proud of himself. 

“Those are just details. It doesn’t mean anything.” Patrick grumbles. 

“Okay. Fine. Then tell me something real.” Pete demands. Patrick blinks at him for a moment. 

“Why in the everloving _ fuck _ would I do that?” Patrick raises his eyebrows in trepidation. 

“Because I want to get to know you. Because you like me and I like you. The least you could do is share something personal.” Pete huffs. 

“Fine.” Patrick throws his pen down. “I’ll tell you something real. My father died five years ago, on Christmas Eve. That is why I hate Christmas so much. Because it makes me think of my father being sick and I can’t go home because it feels like a shell without him there and my mother is so depressed she can barely get out of bed. And I can’t stand it.” Patrick feels like he’s going to hyperventilate with the confession. 

“Oh, Patrick.” Pete says, giving him this look of utter consideration and care. Pete pulls him into a hug without warning, and Patrick sinks into it gratefully. 

Patrick sniffles, but he doesn’t cry. 

“I’m so sorry, darling.” Pete murmurs, rubbing his back. Then, Pete seems to process what he said about not being able to go home. “Wait,” Pete pulls back to look at him, holding him by the shoulders. “You’re saying you’ve been alone every Christmas for the last four years?”

“It’s better this way.” Patrick nods, but his eyes betray him and start to well with tears. 

“Oh, honey.” Pete sighs. “No it’s not. But I understand where you’re coming from. Why don’t you come home for Christmas with me this year?” Pete suggests. 

The thing is, with Pete rocking him back and forth like he’s a baby, he can’t exactly say no. 

“Okay. As long as your parents don’t mind.” Patrick says, muffled into Pete’s shirt. 

“They won’t, sweetheart. They’ll be so excited to meet you.” Pete smiles, wiping away the tears on his face. 

“Why are you so nice to me? I’ve been nothing but cruel to you.” Patrick feels like he’s cracking down the middle. 

“Patrick. You can definitely be prickly, but...I find it kind of charming. Besides, I knew there had to be a reason you treated me that way and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with anything I did.” Pete laughs. 

“You’re smart.” Patrick gives him a tiny smile. “I had heard a lot of rumors about you, and I believed them. Because it was easier for me to make excuses to not like you. I was scared. I still am. But I think you’ve proved me wrong over and over again. I’m just worried I won’t be  _ enough _ for you.” Patrick admits, his voice raw. 

“Trick, you’re enough. Fuck, you’re more than I deserve. Whoever made you think you aren’t good enough is wrong.” Pete reassures him fiercely.

“The last boyfriend I had was in college, and he cheated on me. I think it broke me a little bit. But I like you too. I really, really like you.” Patrick admits. He’s baring his soul for Pete to see. 

“He’s a fucking idiot.” Pete frowns. “But I am so glad you’ve come around. I know it’s a bit fast, but I think my parents will love you.” 

“Luckily, all parents love me.” Patrick giggles. 

“I don’t doubt that, somehow.” Pete replies, and then he showers Patrick’s face in kisses, ending with one pressed to his lips. 

It’s the sweetest thing Patrick’s ever tasted. 

xxx

When Patrick walks into Pete’s childhood home in the Chicago suburbs, he is absolutely floored by the warm welcome. 

Pete’s mother, who insists he call her Dale, gave him a hug and offered him a drink. His father gave him a handshake and a smile as wide as Pete’s. 

They watch a Christmas movie and drink spiked eggnog. Patrick is having a lot more fun than he expected, and then it’s time for dinner.

They sit at the table together and Pete’s dad starts slicing up the ham. 

As they eat, Pete’s parents asks him questions. This is the part he tried to prepare for. 

“Pete and I work together at the NYPD.” Patrick says. Which is stupid, because he’s pretty sure they already know that. Nevertheless, Dale nods and smiles and Pete senior laughs. 

“We know, dear. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but...how come you aren’t with your family for the holidays?” Dale asks, completely oblivious.

“Mom!” Pete chides. “It’s a touchy subject for him. Leave him be.” 

“I’m sorry.” Dale says, looking properly scorned. 

“No. It’s okay. My dad died five years ago, and things haven’t been the same since. It’s just too depressing for me to go back to that house. I don’t know.” Patrick says, gesturing with his fork. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Pete senior says.

“That must’ve been really hard. We’re glad to have you here.” Dale replies, trying to be encouraging. 

“Thank you.” Patrick smiles shyly down at his mashed potatoes. 

Dinner goes along smoothly, and they take dessert out into the living room so they can watch another festive movie. 

After that, it’s time to open presents. Patrick isn’t expecting to get anything, but then Dale hands him a neatly wrapped gift.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” Patrick babbles anxiously. 

“Nonsense. Open it.” Dale says. Patrick looks at Pete, and all Pete does is wink. Patrick flushes and starts ripping off the wrapping paper.

It’s a Christmas sweater. Clearly homemade, but done with care and precision. It matches the one Pete is wearing, except this one is green. It has Patrick’s name stitched on it. Patrick feels like he might start crying. 

He puts it on over his shirt and thanks Dale profusely. 

“It’s no trouble. Merry Christmas, honey.” 

“Merry Christmas.” Patrick beams. He turns to Pete, who’s sitting next to him. Pete looks at him with adoration, and then he wraps his arm around Patrick and reels him in for a kiss. It’s chaste, considering they’re in front of Pete’s parents, but it makes Patrick feel warm. 

Once they’ve opened all the gifts under the tree, Pete and Patrick head up to his childhood bedroom for the night. 

“Star Wars sheets. Why am I not surprised?” Patrick smirks. 

“Don’t knock Star Wars, or I’ll have to break up with you.” Pete threatens half-heartedly. 

“Sorry.” Patrick giggles, and then he changes into his pajamas and snuggles up under the covers with Pete facing him. 

Pete has got a nervous look on his face, and Patrick can’t figure out why. 

“I have a gift for you.” Pete blurts. 

“I swear to God if it’s your dick-” Patrick starts. 

“It’s not.” Pete replies, trying to placate him. 

“Oh. But I didn’t get you anything.” Patrick frowns. 

“That’s okay. Just shut up and let me give you the damn thing.” Pete bites his lip and rolls over to pull a gift out from under the bed. 

Patrick takes it, and then he unwraps it with Pete’s gaze focused on him in anticipation. 

It’s an Elvis Costello vinyl. One that Patrick doesn’t actually own and has been talking about for the past month. Who knew Pete actually listened to him. Patrick hugs it close to his chest and pulls Pete in by his Christmas sweater to kiss him hard. 

“I love it.” Patrick beams. 

“I love _ you. _ ” Pete says reverently. Patrick freezes, searching Pete’s face to make sure he isn’t joking. 

“Yeah? I think I love you too.” Patrick replies, his voice low and syrupy.

“I don’t even need a gift as long as you love me. Merry fucking Christmas.” Pete laughs, sounding a bit hysterical, but mostly relieved. 

“Merry fucking Christmas, Pete.” Patrick wraps himself around Pete’s back and holds on tight. 

It is everything Patrick thought he’d never have. He wants to capture this moment, save it in his memory forever. He breathes in the smell of Pete’s cologne and his shampoo, slides his hands under Pete’s sweater and touches his warm skin. 

  
For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t hate Christmas. He thinks if he has Pete for the rest of his life, that Christmas will always be this merry. Hell, Patrick would ever go so far as to say that he’s _ cheerful. _ It’s a Christmas miracle. 

**Author's Note:**

> wow. this fic was hard to write, but well worth it. as you can tell, my specialty is not plot. but i based it loosely off deb and joey from dexter, mixed with jake and amy from b99. apparently i am incapable of writing a version of pete that hates patrick. sorry. it's much more one-sided loathing than actual enemies to lovers. oops. i hope you enjoy it anyways! merry christmas, y'all. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @gothfob 
> 
> title from yule shoot your eye out by fob :)


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